The Opposite of the Hand of Midas
by Padfoot3456
Summary: It feels too hot in here. Of course, he's been working all damn day, so that could be it. Working and working and working because if he doesn't work he's going to think and if he thinks bad things are going to happen. Stony.


It feels too hot in here. Of course, he's been working all damn day, so that could be it. Working and working and working because if he doesn't work he's going to think and if he thinks bad things are going to happen. It is common knowledge, in Tony Stark's own mind, that Tony Stark should not think about Life Problems for too long because the list is too big and it only hurts and he usually can't fix any of the stuff that happened so it's best just to leave it alone.

Steve and he had another fight. They'd broken up a month ago- one month, two days, three hours, four minutes, and fifty-eight seconds (not that Tony was counting or anything- that would be absurd)- and ever since then, things had been rocky.

Things had been good. Things had been really good. Tony had felt more alive than ever.

And then the tabloids didn't have anything juicy to print so they went to their default: Tony Stark scandals. Steve wasn't stupid. He didn't buy anything they said, if he managed to get wind of it. But then he'd found a thong in his and Tony's bed and it had all gone downhill from there.

Tony took it like a champ. He'd known that something like this was going to happen sooner or later, and even though he didn't know anything about the thong or why it had been there, he knew no one would listen. And even then, he would have ended up hurting Steve anyway, so it was just best to get it over with.

These thoughts were small comforts.

So yes. Tony has been down in his lab for three days. Because he was getting Dangerous Thoughts, which only working and alcohol could chase away.

Except this time it wasn't working. This time, his mind drifted.

"_You're just like Howard- I can't believe I didn't see it before."_

Tony shook his head. More bourbon. Now. He poured it, swallowed the whole glass, poured another.

"_And that- that kicked puppy look? It's just another manipulative trick to get people to go along with your song and dance. Well you know what, Stark? I'm not buying it anymore."_

"Shut up." He growled to the Steve in his head. Oh yeah. He was drunk.

"_How could you, Tony? How could you lie to me like that? I could understand if you had just come up to me and- nevermind."_

Tony's muscles clenched as he sat at the worktable, his shoulders tense, head ducked. Maybe if he could curl up enough he'd just disappear. That'd be better, wouldn't it? He tried so hard to be a hero. To be a good boyfriend. To be a good _person_. But first went Pepper. Then Cap.

He was ruining his own life and he didn't even know how to make it stop. And then there would be times where Steve would smile at him, like everything would be okay again. It was the sweetest pain Tony had ever experienced. Because it gave him hope. And it was humiliating, the things he would do for Steve. As if going on crowd control would somehow make Steve more open to the idea of dating him again.

No, no. It was best that he didn't touch Tony with a ten foot pole.

Because Tony was poisonous. He ruined everything he touched, even if he had the best of intentions. It was like the hand of Midas, but on the other side of the spectrum. Tony swallowed more bourbon, starting to entertain a Dangerous Idea. He did that, sometimes, just thought about them. What the consequences would be.

He had a gun. He could do it.

Maybe it wouldn't even hurt.

_Ah, to die. To sleep. To sleep, perchance, to dream._

Tony folded his arms and put his head down on the table, feeling exposed and unsafe. Ha. He felt unsafe in his _own fucking tower._ Jesus Christ. For all of the bravado and cockiness he managed to exude in front of his 'friends', alone, he was weak. Pathetic. Spineless.

Unworthy.

Tony knew this very well. He hadn't been good enough for anyone. Ever. Not his mother, not his father, not whatever friends he managed to pick up along the way. Not for Steve. And he'd tried _so fucking hard._ That was probably what hurt the most. That he'd put in so much effort to be better, to change himself into a good man for Steve- to have it all go to waste.

He could never go back. He could never rectify this. There wasn't anything he could say that would make anyone listen to him. Not even Bruce, who Tony was sure had his back no matter what.

Oh, yes, Tony knew what it was like to be surrounded by friends and yet be totally, utterly alone.

Tony was pulling open the drawer before he knew it, taking out the pistol. What did it matter if he did it? Nobody was losing much. Tony, as a person, was worthless. He knew this very well, too. When people scream things at you, you tend to start believing them at some point. Tony ran his fingers over the gun.

"Are you sure you want to do that, sir?" JARVIS asked, his volume lower than usual. Like he was scared to scare Tony.

"I'm just looking, JARVIS." A lie. He wasn't sure. Teetering on the edge.

Okay, so boo hoo, nobody wanted him. Big deal. Tony had dealt with all of that up until now. It was the fact that _he_ didn't even want _himself. _So he saved a few people on occasion. How many other people had his weapons killed? How many designs had he sent off to manufacturing just because they were cool and super deadly?

It had never seemed real until he saw people actually getting killed with them.

Now of course, there was more than one way he could do this. The others were a lot quieter than a gunshot.

He could drown himself, or remove the arc reactor. But those two things scared the shit out of him and if he was going to die, he didn't want to be terrified. He didn't like magic, but he had to acknowledge that it was real. Which meant that ghosts were probably real, too. In which case, a gunshot would bring him back as well, but probably not as powerfully as drowning himself would.

Okay. He didn't want to think about water anymore.

He pulled back the hammer on the gun, listening to the click echo throughout the otherwise empty lab. It was loaded. He knew it was.

"Sir?"

"Shut up, JARVIS."

Tony stood, drink in one hand, pistol in the other, and went to stand against the wall. He looked at his workshop. It was the only place he felt even marginally comfortable in anymore. Nobody glared at him here. Nobody telling him what to do with his life. Nobody accusing him of this or that. He was alone.

He wished he wasn't alone right now. He would still do it, even if someone was here. But it would be nice to hold someone's hand when he did. Just so that he knew somebody cared, just for a second, about whether or not Tony Stark lived or died… Yeah. In his dreams.

Tony closed his eyes, feeling the sweat drip down his forehead. He took another drink. Okay. He was ready. He'd do it. And no one would have to worry anymore. Avengers could still function without him. Pepper already ran Stark Industries. The Avengers could have all of his remaining money. Hell, they'd be getting a profit out of this. Tony grinned for just the briefest of moments.

Selfish. That's what this was. Selfish. And Tony couldn't even be bothered to care. Suicide was the logical answer. It couldn't hurt if he was dead, right?

"Say bye to everyone for me, JARVIS?" He asked, swallowing. His AI butler didn't answer. Tch. Not even a robot cared. "Make me sound good, not… drunk and pathetic." Tony ended lamely, taking another drink of bourbon. He rose the gun to his temple, eyes still closed and oddly at peace. This was the right decision.

Just as he started to squeeze the trigger, something really big and really powerful barreled right into him. Tony was pretty sure he'd just been hit by a freight train. He let go of the gun and it skittered away. He'd dropped his bourbon and the glass smashed on the floor, spilling the drink everywhere. Someone was pinning him to the wall via his chest and the wrist that had held the gun.

"Tony…!" Steve's voice, panicked and scared and _what the hell do you think you're doing?_

Tony didn't have an answer. He hung his head, not daring to open his eyes. Steve was going to yell at him. And take the gun. And Tony had failed _again._

They were silent, though. Steve shifted so his fingers threaded through Tony's, still holding him against the wall, but this time with added affection. He stopped pinning Tony with the forearm of the other arm and instead ran his fingers through Tony's sweaty hair. Tony relaxed, and Steve's hand hit the back of his head and pulled him close, holding him there.

"No matter how many times I tell you…" Steve sighed. "You're not alone." Steve kept petting his hair, dropping a light kiss on Tony's forehead. "I came to say I'm sorry. That underwear was Natasha's. She just came back. Apparently, Clint thought it might be funny to have sex on your bed while you were gone, she left it there on accident." Steve explained. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Tony."

Tony shook a little bit. And then he was holding onto Steve for dear life, tucking his face into the crook of Steve's neck.

"I'm sorry, too." He choked out.

"It's okay now, Tony. It's okay. You're not alone."

* * *

This was written based off of some fanart, which I'll link at the bottom. Anyway, it was really beautifully done and it just struck me. And I'm a sucker for Tony angst. So I had to.

Hope you enjoy!

Tata for now~

Pad.

padfoot36. deviantart favourites/50348531#/d52jtk3

Just remove the spaces! :3


End file.
